


We Looked Like Giants

by obbel



Category: Latin American Celebrities RPF, Reggaeton RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obbel/pseuds/obbel
Summary: “I can’t with you,” Royce says into the Formica.“You can,” Maluma says, leaning in to speak directly into Royce’s ear. “I'd let you.”Royce groans, and Maluma is close enough to feel the thumping as Royce bangs his head against the counter, repeatedly.College AU.





	1. Chapter 1

“Let’s do something crazy,” Maluma says, and Royce doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. Maluma’s not even sure if Royce heard what he’d said because he’s agreeing, but he’s still scrolling through Instagram. Maluma can see it reflected in his sunglasses.

“Yeah, bruh, you got it.” Royce gives him a thumbs up with one hand, still not looking at Maluma, and double taps the screen with the other.

Maluma laughs, then rolls over. The back of his beach chair is too far up, though, and it’s not comfortable. He shifts around, trying to find a good spot, but then he gives up and goes to find some beers instead.

They’re very expensive at this hotel, but he doesn’t feel like going out to the corner store. It’d take too long, and he’d have to put on a shirt. He gets two bottles at the tiki bar, charging it to the room. That’s what spring break is for, right? Indulging.

Maluma hands Royce a bottle of Bud Light, and Royce looks at him for the first time since they got to the pool.

“Man, what is this?” He makes a face. “They didn’t have anything better?”

“What?” Maluma asks, sitting back down and taking a sip. “This is good. It’s better than whatever they have at the parties you like to go to.”

“That’s because those parties give out free beer,” Royce says, returning to his phone. “And you like to go too, don’t bullshit me. I’ve seen your little act.” He’s talking to the screen, but he momentarily looks up, over his phone, to give Maluma judgmental eyebrows.

 _“Qué hablas?”_ Maluma says, but he’s blushing, smiling into the bottle. Royce looks up again and sees. He rolls his eyes.

“Ahh, sure.” Royce actually puts his phone down to look at Maluma. Maluma starts a mental count. One.

 _“No te hagas, parce,”_ Royce continues. “You’ve got it down! Your little, _‘hola mamacita._ I’m from _Colombia._ I speak _eh-Spanish._ I play _fútbol.’_ It’s soccer, man! Soccer! I should tell them not to let you in anymore.” Royce shakes his head and goes back to whatever is so interesting online.

“Fine. Then I won’t help you move all your heavy shit to the parties. That’s why they let _you_ in. Because you do the music.”

“They don’t just let me in, bro,” Royce says, and he puts his phone down again. Maluma tallies another point for himself. “They _pay me._ And now I’m wasting all my coins on this expensive-ass piss water.” Royce shakes his head again, making a tutting noise, tongue against his teeth.

“I bought the beers,” Maluma points out, although that’s not technically true. They’re splitting the hotel bill five ways. “Next time you pick what you want.” He looks at Royce, but he’s already gone, fingers flying as he tweets out whatever is on his mind. Probably complaints about free (ish) beer, the asshole.

Maluma finally adjusts his chair and reclines, closing his eyes, and he stays like that until Royce wakes him up, not realizing he’d fallen asleep.

“Come on, man, let’s get out of the sun.” Maluma could stay here a little while longer, but he lets Royce lead him back inside.

 

\---

 

He gets his revenge soon enough, though. They’re back only a few minutes before Maluma drags Royce to the gym. Literally, has to manhandle Royce out of their room and into the fitness center. Maluma picks out two treadmills right next to each other, and gestures at Royce to get on. Royce rolls his eyes, but he obeys, starts jogging.

“Who works out on vacation?” Royce asks him, but it must be a rhetorical question.

“Us,” Maluma answers anyway, and he bumps up the speed on the treadmill a couple times.

“Fuck, bro. You didn’t make the girls come running!” Royce notices Maluma going faster than him and matches Maluma’s pace, but only momentarily. Maluma hits the increase speed button again.

“That’s because they ditched us,” Maluma says, and he’s right. They haven’t seen Anitta, Natalia, or Emeraude since the morning when they’d left to go to brunch and hadn’t come back afterwards. Natalia had sent him a few mysterious texts saying they’d be gone for while, and that’s the last he’d heard.

“You motherfucker,” Royce groans, begrudgingly picking up the pace. “You soccer-playing motherfuck.”

Maluma just laughs. They’re going pretty fast, but not yet sprinting. Maluma can feel his heart thumping steadily in his chest, its predictability reassuring, just like the familiar motion of running. He lets his body settle into a rhythm and his mind wander, lets years of conditioning take over and tell his body what to do.

Maluma likes the hotel they’re staying in, even if its beer is overpriced. Royce had picked it out, just like he’d picked out everything on this trip. He had everything planned already, made his reservations in advance. Maluma just handed over the money when Royce had said so. Between the five of them, it wasn’t even that bad.

Maluma can see Royce out of the corner of his eye, panting and dripping sweat. He turns his head to get a better look.

“Bro,” Royce huffs at him. “C’mon. You done yet? Enough.” He looks pretty miserable.

 _“Ya, tranquilo.”_ Maluma slows his treadmill down to a jog. Royce gives a huge sigh of relief and slows down as well, but his victory is short-lived. Maluma strips his shirt off and throws it at Royce, who yelps but manages to dodge it. Maluma uses the distraction to mash the increase button until the machine is going at full speed, and he’s sprinting as fast as he can.

“Oh come on!” Royce yells, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “I’m not doing that.”

 _“Dale, dale, dale!_ You can! If I can, you can! Come on, _papi!”_ Maluma is grinning and running and yelling and sweating. He almost makes it look fun.

Royce stares for a minute, then groans as loudly as he can. “Goddamn,” but then he’s running just as fast as Maluma, although he’s breathing a lot harder, huffing and puffing and swearing.

Maluma knows Royce wants to win, wants to beat him. Knows that he’ll push himself until he falls off the treadmill and has a heart attack and ruins their vacation. So he doesn’t run as long as he could, doesn’t punish Royce. He eases the machine back down to a jog and then a walk and gives them a long cool down period. When he hears that Royce’s breath has settled back down into a normal pattern, he hops off the machine.

“Time for weights!”

Royce just groans.

 

\---

 

Back in their room, the five of them are reunited. They’ve piled on one bed, even though there are two in the room and pull-out couch.

Royce is asleep, dead to the world. He came out of the shower and face-planted into the pillows, and he’s been there ever since. Emeraude, next to him, will occasionally give him a nudge when he snores too loudly, but it doesn’t have any effect. She thinks it’s hilarious, and Maluma has seen at least two videos of Royce snoring on her story already.

Emeraude and Natalia are deep in conversation about about a class they have together. Marketing, from what Maluma can make out. His head is in Natalia’s lap, and can feel her gesturing whenever she gets excited, which is often. No naps for him.

“Hey,” Anitta says. She’s wedged herself in the middle of all of them, somehow, head next to Emeraude and legs stretched out over Maluma’s stomach. “What are we doing tonight? I’m hungry.”

“Ask Royce. He’s got everything planned,” Emeraude says, and nudges him again. He grumbles something that sounds like “fuck off,” and they all laugh.

“Hey sleepy.” Anitta flips over, managing not to knock anyone out in the process. Maluma is impressed. She wiggles in between Royce and Emeraude. “Hey, hey, hey, _o dorminhoco,”_ she coos. “Wake up!"

Royce cracks one eye open and sees that it’s Anitta, then shuts it quickly again. “Tell Emeraude to stop bullying me. Let a man get his naps.”

“Right,” Emeraude says. “Naps. More like a coma!” She leans over Anitta and starts pushing at Royce, who who groans, “Nooooooo, my naps!” He flails an arm in Emeraude’s direction, but he only hits Anitta, who says “Hey!” and pushes him back. Natalia jumps to her defense, dumping Maluma’s head unceremoniously out of her lap. That means Maluma has to join in, too, because it’s Royce’s fault he lost his comfortable spot, and then it all descends into madness.

Everyone tries to get Royce, and he dives under the covers, curling up in a little ball and pulling the sheets down tightly around him, yelling insults at all of them. Anitta and Emeraude are laughing, returning his insults and cracking each other up. They try to pull the covers away, but Royce won’t let loose. Natalia tries to tickle him out of hiding, but he’s too well-protected.

Finally, Maluma tackles him off the bed, landing both of them on the floor with Maluma squarely on top, the sheet still covering Royce, who thrashes around underneath Maluma, trying to dislodge him. Maluma lets up a little, letting Emeraude grab the sheet out from between them, but this gives Royce a chance to flip them, and he quickly climbs on top, straddles Maluma, and pins him down. He’s heavy on top of Maluma, solid and warm. Maluma can out run him, but Royce has always been stronger. He grins.

“That’s right!” he crows, victorious, but the moment doesn’t last long. All three women come at him at the same time with a battle cry. They push him off Maluma, and Royce leaps up, tries to run away, but Natalia is right behind him, clobbering him with a pillow she’s grabbed off the bed. She chases him twice around the room before Royce gives up, collapsing on the floor, and they accept his surrender, all laughing too much to keep up the attack.

Finally calmed down, Royce reminds everyone that they need to stay on schedule. He has plans for dinner, and then there’s a concert he wants to go to, “The reason we’re here in the first place,” he points out.

 _“Your_ reason,” Anitta says. “I am here because New York is still too cold.” She shudders. “Too cold, and I miss the ocean.”

“Come on. Let’s get ready, and maybe Royce will quit nagging,” Natalia says, and grabs Anitta and Emeraude. The three disappear into the bathroom before Royce can respond, and soon Maluma can hear music coming from someone’s phone, and a lot of commotion as they get ready.

“Damn, I wanted to do my hair,” Maluma complains to Royce, who’s still on the floor, slumped against the bed. He’s got his phone out, taking a selfie.

“You snooze, you lose, bro. Use the mirror over there.” Royce gestures towards mirrored closet.

“But there’s nowhere to put my things,” Maluma points out.

Royce drops his phone and gives Maluma a look. “You have hands, don’t you?”

“Two.” Maluma wiggles his fingers at Royce. “I can’t do my hair and hold the products at the same time.”

Royce scoffs. “Put them on the floor,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But then they will get dirty!”

“Oh my God,” Royce says, and stands up, grabbing Maluma by the arm. “I’ll do your hair, you diva. Go get your _products.”_

Royce positions him on the floor, rolling his eyes when Maluma makes a face, in front of the closet. The door is a mirror, and Maluma looks at his reflection, his hair soft and floppy without anything in it. He sees Royce kneel behind him, dip his fingers in the jar of hair paste, and then he feels Royce’s fingers running through his hair several times. Maluma hums happily. All his products are sitting protected in his lap.

“Don’t get used to this shit,” Royce says, although he’s playing with Maluma’s hair more than is strictly necessary to distribute the paste. Maluma closes his eyes, and he can feel ten fingers running through his hair. He lets out a low groan, liking how nice it feels.

“Stop, seriously,” Royce says, still rubbing Maluma’s head. “I should be charging you,” he mutters. “Twenty, like usual.”

It’s true. Maluma’s dorm room is right across from Royce’s, and he’s seen the guys that show up on the weekends for shape ups. At first he thought Royce was selling weed, which would make sense since Royce is the only RA on the floor, so there’s really no one to get him in trouble. But then Royce asked _him_ where he could get an eighth, and so that theory was out. Maluma’s second guess was that Royce just got laid a lot, and that he scheduled them in like he schedules everything else in his life. But that would be like, an excessive amount of sex, and Maluma kind of hoped that wasn’t the case.

Royce had thought it was hilarious when Maluma finally asked him what he was doing with all those guys. They were in the library, and Royce had to actually cover his mouth with his hands to keep himself quiet, shoulders heaving as he tried to stifle his laughter. He’d managed to choke out “Hair!”, and the confused look Maluma had given him only made it worse. Royce laughed and laughed, and Maluma wanted to laugh with him, but he still wasn’t sure what was so funny. Once Royce calmed down enough to talk at a normal volume, he explained that no, he wasn’t selling drugs or sex, although that was a pretty good idea. The drugs, not the sex, he clarified when Maluma had shot him a look. He just cut hair to make a few bucks on the side.

Royce had a lot of side jobs, Maluma eventually found out. He told Maluma he had to make up the difference in what his scholarships didn’t pay for. Being an RA covered his housing and meals. On the weekends he’d DJ for parties and other events. Sometimes he drove for Lyft, sometimes he walked dogs, sometimes he worked in the bookstore on campus. Maluma asked him when he had time to study, and Royce had just smiled and said he didn’t sleep a lot, making Maluma feel guilty for every time he’d complained about soccer practice, because that was his ticket here, a full scholarship to play for the school.

But Royce had just told him not to feel bad, that he’d earned it. And then he’d kicked Maluma out of his room where they’d been hanging out because his next appointment was here, and if Maluma wasn’t going to pay to get his hair cut, he needed to leave.

“I’ll pay you in sexual favors,” Maluma says, and Royce coughs, pretending not to hear him.

He bangs on the door of the bathroom instead, yelling, “Hey, Em, let me borrow your hair dryer!”

Emeraude pokes her head out. She looks great, dark smokey eyes with crisp liner. She’s left her hair fairly natural, and it flows in gentle waves. Beachy, Maluma thinks is the right description. Appropriate because of, well, the beach.

“I didn’t bring one,” she says. “Ask Natalia.” Then she disappears back into the bathroom.

“Wait, I’m almost done!” Natalia yells in their general direction, and a few seconds later sound of hot air cuts off, and she appears, dryer in hand. Her hair is fully blown out, smooth and shiny even with all the humidity in the air.

Maluma wolf whistles, and Natalia laughs. She tells him to behave himself before giving Royce the hair dryer and heading back to the bed.

Anitta and Emeraude come out not long after Natalia, Anitta with her hair in a high, sleek ponytail. Maluma watches it swish in the mirror as they head over to join Natalia. He can see them chatting conspiratorially. They keep glancing over at him and Royce, but when Maluma tries to ask what they’re talking about, mouthing _qué, qué,_ and shrugging his shoulders. No one responds, though. They just giggle. Natalia blows him a kiss and winks.

“Stop moving,” Royce says, and pinches him.

“Ow.” Maluma swats behind his back at Royce, who lowers his arms to protect himself. He has a comb in one hand and the dryer in the other.

“I’m gonna fuck your hair up, bro. But like, on purpose. You’re gonna be so ugly, not even your mama is gonna love you.”

“That’s okay,” Maluma says, grabbing the comb and finishing his hair himself. “You will still love me.” He turns around and hugs Royce as tight as he can, plants two kisses on his cheeks while he’s trapped. Royce struggles a little, but doesn’t break free like Maluma knows he could.

“No, I won’t,” Royce yells at Maluma’s back as Maluma leaves him to go join everyone else.

“Move over,” Maluma says to Anitta, who’s taking up at least half the bed, an impressive feat for someone her height.

“No.” Anitta doesn't budge from where she’s lying, relaxed against Emeraude’s shoulder. “Let’s go already. I am tired of spending all day in the bed.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Emeraude says, smirking. She nudges Anitta.

“Oh, really? And who have you been talking to?” Anitta sits up, smirking right back at her. Emeraude starts naming a not-short list of names, and Anitta goes “Ha!” before settling back where she was. Emeraude pats her on the head. Carefully, so as not to mess up her hair.

“Hurry up, Royce!” Natalia yells, and Maluma, still standing because no one moved over to let him sit and it’s not like he’s going to sit all _alone_ on the other bed, joins in. “Come on, Royce. Very slow!”

“Man, shut up. I let you all get ready first, and now you’re just gonna have to wait for me.” His voice comes out of the bathroom. There’s a chorus of booing and general insults, but Royce eventually finishes, and they can all finally get going.

 

\---

 

The concert is better than the restaurant Royce had picked out. That was nauseatingly pretentious, as Emeraude had described it. Royce had given her a death glare, but Maluma secretly agreed. The plates were very small, with more decoration that food on them. And they didn’t taste nearly as good as they cost.

Royce had lectured his plebeian friends on how this restaurant was about the _experience,_ and that they were all just haters, but Natalia was the only one who believed his pitch. Together they fawned over the exposed brick, the oversized mason jars, the mid-century bar stools. Everyone else just rolled their eyes and prayed the structurally unsound looking pipes hanging off the ceiling for no apparent reason wouldn’t come crashing down on their heads.

All the decor meant Royce was back on his bullshit with that phone, too. He actually refused to let them eat until he’d photographed the food, even Maluma’s bowl of soup that he didn’t even want to eat, but ordered on the principle of it being the only item on the menu without the work “artisanal” in the description. Really, the only plus was that their drinks also came in extra large mason jars, and they arrived to the concert happy and giggly.

It’s bachata, of course. Like Royce would bring them to any other kind of concert. That’s not really Maluma’s thing, but he’s not going to tell Royce that, especially when he hasn’t seen Royce so carefree in months. Besides, he gets to watch Royce dance, and Maluma would listen to country music if it means he gets to see a sight as beautiful as that. Even if it sparks _something_ in his lower belly that might be jealousy as he watches Royce dance with several partners, pretty young women who match his steps, easy as can be, smiling as he leads them through turns and swishes and wines.

Or it might just be lust. Maluma thought he was pretty smooth, but Royce is on a whole other level. He knows he’s spent too much time staring at the way Royce moves his hips when he’s caught by surprise. Anitta appears by his side, startling him.

“You go dance with him now,” she says, nudging his shoulder.

Maluma looks at her, and just laughs, because it’s not that easy.

“Yes, it is,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Watch.”

She grabs Royce, and just like that, they’re moving together, tight and precise but liquid and sensual at the same time. It’s mesmerizing to watch, but Maluma can only handle little doses. Watching them together is difficult in a way that makes Maluma want to run outside the club and into the ocean and not come back. Instead he goes to the bar for another drink, and ends up bribing the band to play something, anything else. He won’t make it if he has to see Royce like that the whole night.

This is supposed to be bachata night, but no one objects when the tempo speeds up, and there’s merengue blaring onto the dance floor. Royce looks surprised, but he doesn’t miss a beat, slipping easily into the right steps, solo for the first time since they arrived because Anitta has disappeared again.

Soon the venue is an explosion of joyful chaos, the faster music bringing out those who were too shy to attempt the careful movements bachata requires. There are so many bodies spinning and swaying and stepping that it’s a miracle no one crashes into anyone else. Until they do.

Maluma feels a small hand just above his waist, and then he’s shoved, hard, and collides with someone rather ungracefully. He turns around to make his apologies, and also to look for the asshole who pushed him, but before he can see whose fault it was, he sees who’s in front of him. Royce grins and takes his hand, and suddenly they’re dancing.

“Hey,” he says, and Maluma doesn’t even get to reply before he’s spun around, Royce guiding his every move.

“Why do you get to be the lead?” Maluma asks between steps.

“Because I’m a better dancer than you.”

That’s not untrue, but Maluma doesn’t want Royce to think he is a _bad_ dancer, so he does his best to remember all the things Royce taught him last semester when they’d gone out dancing in Bushwick. He’s got the basic steps down just fine, and Royce helps him with more complicated moves. He laughs as Royce twirls him around again.

They must look pretty good because their friends have reappeared to cheer them on.

“Woohoo!” Anitta yells. “Get it _papi!”_

Royce blows her a kiss. Maluma flips her off, sneakily he thought, but Royce must have noticed because he takes the opportunity to dip him low, to the floor. Maluma winds his leg around Royce’s waist just because he can, and that makes the three of them cheer louder. Maluma can’t even be mad he’s enjoying this so much.

The song ends, and Natalia herds them all into taking a selfie, then several more before Anitta walks her and Emeraude in the direction of the bar. The band has switched back to bachata. Maluma only paid enough for a few songs, it seems. He looks at Royce, who shrugs and takes his hand again. No reason to stop dancing just because they lost their audience.

Royce is explaining the steps to Maluma, who pretends he doesn’t remember. Really, he just likes having Royce’s legs intertwined with his own. He thinks Royce might be catching on after he asks for the same demonstration three times, but they are interrupted by a slurred voice yelling before Maluma can be found out.

_“Maricones!”_

Maluma feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he turns to see what is making that noise. There is a middle-aged man staring at them, his face twisted into an ugly sneer. He stumbles as he steps closer, more garbled nonsense tumbling out of his mouth. Maluma backs up, but the man keeps advancing, only stopping when he’s’ right in Maluma’s face.

 _“Eso no se hace,”_ he mutters, shaking his head which causes him to sway. He catches himself and raises a finger to poke Maluma in the shoulder, hard. _“Putos maricones, que vergüen-”_

Royce doesn’t let him finish. He slips in between Maluma and the man, and instead of hitting him like Maluma is half considering, Royce plants a big kiss right on his lips, complete with a loud, cartoonish smacking sound, then darts away, quick as a flash. Maluma is right behind him.

The man roars, his face even more distorted with rage and disgust. He swings at where Royce was standing, but he’s too drunk and too late. It only serves to topple him over, and he barely catches himself on the shoulder of another patron, who isn’t too pleased about being used to prop up the angry drunk. Royce and Maluma are already halfway to door, bobbing and weaving through the crowd of dancing bodies, and they can just barely hear his cursing as they push their way through the mobbed entryway and spill out onto the street, running and laughing and screaming.

“You’re fucking crazy!” Maluma yells, more at the sky than at Royce.

“Nobody fucks with me!” Royce yells right back, thumping his chest. “I’ll show them!”

Maluma lets out another whoop, and they keep running, just for the sheer pleasure of being able to, of getting out of a bad situation in the best way possible. Maluma feels the pavement beneath his feet and Royce right next to him, and he thinks he could run all the way back to New York like this.

The adrenaline high eventually wears off, though, and they slow to a walk, still right next to each other. Maluma claps Royce on the back.

“Look at you. Cardio twice in one day.” He leaves his arm around Royce’s shoulders.

“Technically, it’s tomorrow,” Royce replies, not shrugging it off like Maluma was expecting.

“You’re the worst kind of person,” Maluma says, and that does get his arm pushed off, but he doesn’t really mind because that frees it up to point out the late-night diner up ahead of them, glowing neon signs advertising half-price cheeseburgers after midnight.

Royce doesn’t need telling twice, and they hurry inside to sit at the counter on tall, backless stools covered in smooth, red vinyl. Maluma’s is slightly cracked on the edges, and he runs his fingers over the seam, picking at it a little. Royce, to his left, notices, and swats his hand away, as he orders burgers and fries for the both of them.

Maluma watches the cook slap two patties down on the grill and hears them sizzle, the smell of grease wafting enticingly over them and making him realize how hungry he is. His hipster-ass soup wasn’t very filling.

 _“Que rrrrrrico,”_ he says, letting it roll on his tongue for far too long. He waggles his eyebrows at Royce, who laughs but also puts his head down on the countertop, using his arms as a pillow.

“I can’t with you, man,” Royce says into the Formica.

“You can,” Maluma says, leaning in to speak directly into Royce’s ear. “I'd let you.”

Royce groans, and Maluma is close enough to feel the thumping as Royce bangs his head against the counter, repeatedly.

“Stop it,” Maluma says, and Royce does, but not because of Maluma. His phone is ringing.

“Hey Em,” Royce says. “Are you still at the place?”

They chat for a minute, and then Royce hangs up. Their friends are coming, so they Maluma flags down a waiter and asks to move into one of the big booths, and it isn’t too long until Anitta is throwing open the door to the diner. Behind her are and Natalia and Emeraude, along with three other people that weren’t there at the start of the night.

“You left us,” she accuses, sliding in right next to Maluma. She picks up the burger off his plate and takes a bite. “This is mine now. Your penance.”

“I didn’t even get to taste it,” Maluma protests, but Anitta shrugs it off, telling him to order another one.

He does, along with more food for everyone who’s just now joined them. Next to Anitta is a guy who introduces himself as Thiago from Brazil and doesn’t say much after that. Maluma’s not sure if he doesn’t speak English, or if he’s happy just to let Anitta do all the talking. On the other side of the booth, Natalia, Natalia’s new friend Esther, and Emeraude have all squished in next to Royce, who complains that this is unfair, but quiets down quickly enough when they threaten to take his food away a la Anitta, especially because he hasn't photographed it yet.

“It’s cool,” says the last guy left standing, Emeraude’s pull from the club. “I’ll just sit on the floor.”

“Sit on Em’s lap,” Natalia says, and Esther laughs a little too long at her really not that funny joke.

“Ha, ha.” Emeraude rolls her eyes at Natalia. She pulls over a chair from a nearby table and sets up her guy at the edge of their booth. “Jade, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Jade.” There’s a chorus of hellos, and everyone finally settles into their place.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the food to arrive, and it takes even less time for them to devour it. Anitta points one of her last fries at Royce, jabbing it in the air as she talks. “You are not allowed to pick anymore restaurants. Look how much food I had to eat to make up for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Maluma adds. “All of hers and all of mine.”

Anitta scoffs. “You shouldn’t be eating this anyway. Your coach will be angry.”

“What sport do you play?” Thiago asks, the first thing he’s said his introduction. Maluma answers soccer, and it’s like a switch has been flipped. Suddenly Maluma can’t keep up with all his questions, mostly in Portuguese, about how his school team is, how many Latinos are playing, how Brazil will do hosting the next Copa América, how he thinks Colombia will do, and James Rodríguez.

“I like James,” Esther says. “He has a nice smile.”

“So do you,” Natalia says, and Esther flashes her one.

“Oooooh,” Royce sing songs and nudges her shoulder. Natalia nudges him right back, smirking.

“Okay friends,” Anitta says, clearing her throat, and all turn to look at her. She raises one eyebrow at the shenanigans of their table. “It is very late. Let’s get going.”

“Yes ma’am,” Maluma says, saluting her. Royce rolls his eyes, and Maluma kicks him under the table. Softly, but still.

“Let me pay,” Thiago says to Anitta. “Then we can leave.”

She looks amused but doesn’t object until she sees that he’s paying for the entire group, not just her. She gets up from the table and follows him over to the cashier. The rest of them aren’t far behind.

“Are you trying to impress me?” she asks him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, taking her hand as they all file out the door.

Maluma glances at Royce, and they giggle. Anitta turns around to glare at the two of them, but they duck down behind Jade and Emeraude.

“So,” Anitta says, once they’re all outside the diner. “I am going with Thiago. All of you go do whatever you want.”

“Yes ma’am,” Royce says, and they all laugh, except Maluma, who makes a _pffft_ noise.

“You’re lame,” he says to Royce.

“That’s not what your mama said.” Royce elbows him in the side, and Maluma groans.

“Extra lame.”

“Whatever, _cállate,”_ Royce says, and turns to address the rest of the group. They don’t snap to attention like they did for Anitta, but he mostly gets his message across. “We’re meeting for breakfast tomorrow at that place. It's in the shared calendar. Everyone will be awake at ten, right?”

“Hmm,” Natalia says. “That’s asking a lot, Royce.” She winks at Esther, who smiles.

“Fine, you fucking party animals. Just meet there whenever you wake up. I’m going to bed now.”

“Okay, grandpa,” Anitta says, and turns to Maluma. “You, you go with him. Make sure he gets there safely.”

“What happened to doing whatever I want?” Maluma asks, but he’s already got his phone out, looking for a ride.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, too loud. “That is what you want to do.”

“I, um,” Maluma stutters. He doesn’t have a witty response to the truth. He can feel himself getting hot around the neck, and he hopes he’s not blushing.

Fortunately, everyone is too concerned with their own affairs to notice. Natalia and Esther are looking at something on Natalia’s phone. Thiago is waiting patiently for Anitta, and Jade and Emeraude have actually disappeared. Only Royce is looking at them, and if he’s heard their conversation, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Anitta says, and hugs Maluma. She goes around and says her goodbyes to the rest, and then she and Thiago leave, hand in hand. Esther and Natalia are not far behind them.

“Our friends suck,” Maluma says to Royce, and when he smiles back, two dimples appear. It’s all Maluma can do not to press him up against the wall of the diner.

Royce is saved from the assault, however, by the arrival of their ride share. Maluma claims the middle seat, and he uses that as an excuse to sit as close as he possibly can to Royce, their legs bumping together the whole way.

 

\---

 

Back at the hotel, just the two of them in a room set up for five people, Maluma waits impatiently, sprawled out on top of the blankets as Royce gets ready for bed. Maluma had claimed the first shower, but now he realizes his mistake because Royce seems to be taking an unbearable amount of time. Maluma refuses to check how long it’s really been, though. That would be weird. But if he just looks at his phone to see any notifications he might have and happens to glance at the clock, that’s not really the same thing.

He raises the phone to his face, and it lights up. Royce has been in the bathroom for fourteen entire minutes, and Maluma doesn’t bother to read the messages he’s received.

Royce finally finishes whatever was taking so long. He comes out of the bathroom and, much to Maluma’s horror, gets in the _other_ bed. He's lying on his back, phone out and held up in front of his face.

“What are you doing?” Maluma asks him, and Royce turns his head to look at him like he’s stupid.

“Going to sleep,” Royce says after a moment. “It’s late as hell, bro.”

“It’s not that late,” Maluma says, trying to keep the conversation going.

“The fuck,” Royce says, rolling over to face Maluma. “It’s like three in the morning.”

“It’s two forty seven,” Maluma says.

“And?”

“It’s not three yet.”

Royce gives him the same look, and Maluma knows he’s being difficult, but he doesn’t want Royce to go to sleep. At least, not in the other bed, so far away from him.

“What do you want, man?” Royce asks him, and Maluma gives up the pretense of his inane conversation.

“Come here,” he says.

“Why?” Royce asks uneasily.

“Please.”

Royce sighs, and he pulls himself out from under the sheets. Slowly, too slowly, he makes his way over to the other bed. He sits next to Maluma, who is still lying down. Royce dangles one leg off the edge of the bed, the other tucked neatly under. They’re not quite touching, but Royce is close enough that Maluma can feel how warm he is from being under the blanket. He notices that Royce has left his phone on the other bed.

“What do you want?” Royce asks again, looking down at Maluma. He sounds less annoyed this time but more tired. His voice is lower than usual.

“Can I kiss you?”

Royce sighs, raises his eyebrows but drops his head to press his knuckles into the bridge of his nose. He kneads softly at the point between his eyes, which are closed. Maluma tries to take his hand, but Royce swats at him, shaking his head. He looks at Maluma, and Maluma can’t read his expression.

“At least you asked this time,” he says, and Maluma laughs briefly, stopping when he sees that Royce isn’t laughing at all.

“Can I?” Maluma asks again, pressing his luck.

That does make Royce laugh, but only in the form of a sharp, cynical exhale. Maluma waits, watching upside down as Royce rolls his eyes and sighs again.

“Fuck it,” Royce says finally, and leans in. He hovers over Maluma, and Maluma closes his eyes in anticipation. But Royce pulls away instead.

“I really can’t do this,” he says. “I mean, no, I can’t.”

Maluma isn’t really sure who Royce is trying to convince. He sits up, puts his hand over Royce’s and doesn’t let him pull away any farther. He looks Royce in the eye and wraps his fingers around Royce’s wrist, squeezing tight.

“What is going on? Why are you saying no? You say that you can’t but you just showed me that you can. I don’t even know what that means, ‘I can’t’. Why can’t you?”

Royce pries Maluma’s fingers off him, lacing them together instead.

“Listen,” he says, but he’s looking down, talking to their hands. “I’ve told you this before. It’s not gonna work, man. I graduate in the spring, and then I’m leaving. And I don’t know where I’m going yet.”

“And so what?” Maluma pulls his hand away, uses it to tilt Royce’s chin up so they’re eye to eye again. “Who cares?”

“It’s not going to work,” Royce says again, and Maluma scoffs.

“So why did you dance with me? Why did you even bring me here? You make out with that guy who wanted to hit you but you are scared to kiss me. Why?”

“I’m not scared. I just can’t,” Royce says, and this non-answer makes Maluma so frustrated he could yell. He wants to grab Royce and shake him, demand an explanation that makes actual sense. But he shoves the anger down, restrains himself.

Instead he just stares at Royce. He looks tired, and not just because it’s late. There are bags under Royce’s eyes, and tiny wrinkles starting to form at the corners that make him look older than just twenty two. His lips are chapped, and his hair is damp from the shower. He still looks like everything Maluma wants.

“Let me make you happy,” Maluma says finally.

“Shut up,” Royce groans, dropping his head back and exposing his neck, a long line of beautiful tan skin that Maluma wants to taste. Maluma moves closer, placing his hand on Royce’s knee. Royce snaps his head back to look at Maluma.

“Shut up,” he says again, although Maluma hasn’t said anything else. “Don’t talk anymore. Fuck, I can’t deal with you when you talk like that.”

“Why not?” Maluma presses, anger bubbling back up to the surface. “Don’t say no just because you think you should. Because you have some stupid idea about how this won’t work.”

“It’s not a stupid idea,” Royce says, but Maluma cuts him off.

“Yes. It is stupid, and you are stupider.” Royce opens his mouth to protest, but Maluma doesn't give him the chance. “But I don’t care. I want you any way you will let me have you.”

Royce sighs, his shoulders slumping. He won't look Maluma in the eye anymore, only shakes his head and pushes Maluma's hand gently off his knee.

“And what if I don’t want you?"

Of all the things Royce might have said, Maluma wasn't expecting this question. It freezes him in place, even when his instinct is to pull away from Royce. He stays where he is, still too close, and does his best to keep his face neutral, to not show the hurt. He doesn't know if Royce really means what he says. Royce certainly sounds like it, but he's still avoiding eye contact, fidgeting with the blanket instead. He loops it around itself, twisting tight and then lets it go, does this repeatedly.

“Then I will leave you alone," Maluma says finally, trying to keep his voice even. "But you have to tell me that.” He raises an eyebrow at Royce.

Royce says, “Okay,” and doesn’t elaborate beyond that. Instead he gets up to turn off the light and then climbs under the blankets, and Maluma wonders if he’s just going to leave the conversation there. But he holds up the sheet and gestures for Maluma to get in. Maluma doesn't hesitate.

Under the covers, Royce pulls him close.

“Of course I want you,” he whispers into Maluma’s neck. "We can talk about it tomorrow, okay? Please, I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Maluma whispers back, and he rolls over. Royce fits perfectly against him, from chest to hips to legs tangled together. He holds Maluma, one arm wrapped against his waist and the other under his neck, and Maluma feels him breathing steadily until he falls asleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Maluma wakes up the next morning, startled to find Royce still in his bed. He’d forgotten that they’d fallen asleep together. They’re not touching anymore, but the sight of Royce right next to him, snoring softly, feels just as good. He’s so peaceful that Maluma almost leaves him alone.

Almost.

 _“Despiértate!_ Up, up, up!”

Royce ignores Maluma, making a soft groaning noise instead. Maluma nudges him, gently at first and then not so much, shaking him and poking mercilessly at his sides. Royce pretends to be asleep through all of it, until Maluma gets too close to his face.

“Okay, my God, you’re worse than my sister’s kids, bro.”

Royce pushes Maluma away, grumbling about morning people and sleep schedules as he rolls out of bed and into the bathroom.

“You’re the one who wanted us up at ten,” Maluma reminds him, and Royce doesn’t have a response to that. Maluma takes it as a victory.

They are not the first ones to arrive at breakfast, to Maluma’s surprise. Emeraude, Natalia, and Esther are already there, along with half a pitcher of mimosas.

Maluma sits down next to Emeraude and pours himself a glass.

“Where’s your mans?”

“Who?” She gives him a look before adding, “Don’t talk like that. It’s so weird. You’ve been spending too much time with Royce.”

“Agreed,” Royce says, although he still sits next to Maluma.

“I’m learning new things, Em. Adapting to the American way of life,” Maluma says, exaggerating his accent as much as possibly he can.

Emeraude gives him a pitying smile and changes the subject. “More importantly, where’s Anitta?”

Maluma scoffs, but Natalia speaks up before he can start complaining. “I don’t think she’s coming,” she says. “She hasn’t read my messages, and she hasn’t been online since last night.” She and Esther glance at each other, then Esther smirks and whispers something in Natalia’s ear. They giggle.

“What’s all this?” Maluma asks, gesturing at Natalia and Esther. “You make a new friend and now you have secrets? Share with the class.”

“We’re not friends,” Esther says cooly. “You don’t have sex with your friends. Well, maybe _you_ do.” Her eyes flit between Maluma and Royce.

Royce chokes on his drink. Maluma goes red.

“Esther!” Natalia is also blushing. She laughs awkwardly and coughs.

Emeraude’s eyes go wide, and she smiles incredulously. “You know how to pick ‘em, Nat,” she says, elbowing Natalia lightly.

Esther shoots her a look. “I’m just saying. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” She rolls her eyes.

No one really knows how to react to that, so Royce takes it upon himself to break the awkward silence. “Well,” he says, unnecessarily loudly. “Anitta will just have to check the calendar on her own time. Because I have a lot of things planned for today.”

There’s a collective groan from the table, but Royce ignores them. He lays out the plan, enunciating in a particularly obnoxious way and leaving no room for comments. They have a full itinerary of sightseeing in the afternoon followed by a free evening.

“How generous,” Emeraude says, and Royce makes a face at her.

“You can plan the vacation next time, then.” He shakes his head. “Ungrateful.”

“Calm down, Royce,” Maluma says, but Royce ignores him.

“My beautiful schedule,” he continues. “Unappreciated.”

 _“You_ are the one who showed up late,” Emeraude points out.

“I wonder _why--”_ Esther starts again, but Natalia cuts her off, frowning. Esther huffs, loudly, but stays quiet.

They’re spared from further scrutiny by not only Natalia but also the arrival of their server, who asks if they’re ready to order. Figuring that Anitta is probably not going to grace them with her presence, they decide that they are.

The rest of breakfast is uneventful. Esther wins herself back into Royce’s good graces by being just as extra about photographing the food as he is.

“Please,” Emeraude says. “Just one time I would like to eat my food while it’s still hot.”

“You hush,” Royce says. “You ordered avocado toast. It’s not supposed to be hot.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.”

Maluma shows his support for Emeraude by cutting a large chunk out of his stack of pancakes and stuffing it into his face before Royce gets to capture in on film. Or digital cloud space, as it may be.

“I give up,” Royce says with a long sigh. “I’m finding new friends. As soon as we get back, all y’all out. I don’t need this negativity in my life.”

Maluma just grins at him, mouth full of pancake.

“Disgusting,” Royce says, shaking his head.

They finish breakfast quickly enough, hurried along by Royce who doesn’t seem to care that it was his fault they lost a good five minutes to his photo shoot. He explains that the museum opened at eleven, so if they catch the bus now, they should make it just in time for lunch when it will hopefully be less crowded.

Natalia and Emeraude exchange a look, then Emeraude says gently, “Hey, you know, we were thinking we might sit this one out. I really need to shower, and someone has to go pick up Anitta.”

Royce looks disappointed, then a bit angry. “Oh,” is all he says.

“We’ll meet back up with you later though!” Natalia adds quickly. Even Esther smiles encouragingly.

“I still want to go,” Maluma says, but Royce shakes his head.

“No, I’m just going to go by myself. It’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that, come on, _ey,_ _no seas así,”_ Maluma says, but Royce ignores him and walks out of the restaurant towards the bus stop.

“Just let him be,” Emeraude says. “He’ll be okay.”

Maluma frowns but figures that Emeraude knows what she’s talking about. Esther offers to drop the three of them back at the hotel, and Maluma climbs into the back of her car with Emeraude. Esther and Natalia are chatting away in the front, but the backseat is silent. Maluma stares out the window until Emeraude shifts her position to look at him.

“Seriously,” she says. “He’ll be fine.”

Maluma considers denying that Royce is what’s on his mind, but Emeraude is far too smart to believe him. Maluma just shrugs.

“He didn’t care yesterday when we blew off his plans. He’ll get over it.”

She tries to reassure him, but Maluma doesn’t really want to believe her.

“Okay, Em. Maybe.”

“Don’t worry about it so much.”

They pull up to the hotel, and Maluma gets out quickly. Emeraude follows, but Natalia stays in the car. They wait for her until they see that she and Esther are making out. Emeraude laughs, and they head back to the room.

Anitta is there already, waiting for them.

“No one came to pick me up!” She exclaims. “I had to do the, what you call it, walk of shame!”

“You did not,” Emeraude says. She drops her bag down and heads for the bathroom. Maluma hears the shower turn on.

“She’s right,” Anitta says to Maluma. They flop down on the bed closest to the door, the unslept in one. “Thiago dropped me off. But I wanted you to feel guilty about forgetting about me!”

“No one forgot about you, _princesa,”_ Maluma says, doing his best Brazilian accent. He rests his head against Anitta’s shoulder, and she ruffles his hair, messing it up. He frowns. “That’s all they wanted to talk about at breakfast, ‘Where’s Anitta, where’s Anitta?’ It’s like no one cared about me and my problems.”  
  
_“Precioso,_ you don’t have problems.”

“Yes, I do. Natalia’s friend was mean to me.”

“I don’t think they are friends,” Anitta says, amused. “You were not there yesterday, but they did not look very ‘friendly’.”

“How?”

“They looked like you and Royce.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Maluma shifts to look at Anitta.

“You know what it means. They looked like they wanted to fuck each other.”

Maluma scoffs. “Royce doesn’t want to fuck me.”

“Of course he does,” Anitta says, pulling Maluma back onto her shoulder. After a moment she says, “You know, it’s funny. You and Natalia break up and now you are both gay.”

“That’s not…” Maluma starts, but Anitta cuts him off. “Or _bisexual_. However you want to call it.” She flaps her hands and shakes her head. “It is very ironic.”

“I guess.”

“It is,” Anitta proclaims. She ruffles his hair again and leaves her hand there.

Natalia chooses that moment to walk into the room. She eyes Anitta and Maluma snuggled up together on the bed.

“Can I join?”

“Of course! _Vem cá.”_ Anitta pushes Maluma over and pats the space in the middle. “We were just talking about you.”

Maluma glares at Anitta, but doesn’t deny it. He just shrugs when Natalia raises an eyebrow at him.

“What were you saying about me?”

“That you are beautiful, and we love you so much.” Anitta grins and wraps her arms around Natalia, planting a kiss on her temple. Natalia rolls her eyes, but she melts into Anitta’s hug just the same.

Emeraude comes out from the bathroom, freshly showered and changed into comfortable clothes. She stands in front of the three of them.

“I’m taking a nap now,” she says.

“We’ll go to the beach,” Natalia says, answering for the rest of them without bothering to ask for Maluma’s opinion. “We’ll let you sleep in peace.”

 

\--

 

Maluma spends most of his time at the beach playing a game of soccer that Anitta bullied him into joining. She plays too, long enough to kick the ball past the keeper, between a beer bottle and a bright plastic bucket meant for children. Then she returns to Natalia under the pretense of not being a bad friend who abandons people, never mind the fact that she is effectively abandoning Maluma. She waves off his protests and leaves him alone with the strangers, telling him they don’t look threatening and probably don’t wish him any bodily harm.

“So,” Anitta says, spreading her towel down next to Natalia and interrupting her reading. “You have a new girlfriend, or what?”

Natalia blushes. She bookmarks her place but doesn’t set the book down. “Not yet.”

Anitta hums. “Well, that’s good. You don’t need to settle down. You should have fun while you are young and single.”

“Thank you for the advice, oh wise one.” Natalia rolls her eyes. “You know I’m older than you?”

“Whatever,” Anitta says. “I am right.”

“I mean, I met her yesterday. But I do like her,” Natalia says, putting the book down and turning to focus on Anitta. “A lot.”

“Yes, she is very pretty, and a good dancer.”

“The two most important things, right?”

Anitta laughs.

“She plays the violin,” Natalia continues. “She’s really good. She showed me yesterday.”

“I’m sure she is good with her fingers. But maybe that is uncomfortable? With all those callouses?”

Natalia’s eyes widen, and she blushes again. She smacks Anitta, lightly, with her book. “Stop it.”

“Oh, so you didn’t?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Natalia says primly. She opens her book again and pretends to read, covering half her face and giving Anitta the evil eye over the top of the page.

“Fine,” Anitta says, mimicking Natalia’s tone of voice. She opens her hands, miming a book and peers at Natalia. They keep up the staring contest until Natalia forfeits, breaking into a grin.

“Of course we did,” she says, though her smile falters slightly. She sounds nervous. “And it was not uncomfortable, thank you very much.” She rushes through the sentence, trying to reclaim her bravado.

Anitta smiles at her. “I’m happy for you,” she says, and leaves it at that. She grabs her phone, intending to check the time, and instead sees a message from Emeraude.

“Em says she is coming to join us,” Anitta tells Natalia. “She and Royce.”

“Oh, he’s back?”

“Back from where?”

“He went to some museum by himself.”

“I guess that is comforting,” Anitta says. “I was not the only one you people abandoned.”

“You’re so full of it,” Natalia says.

“Full of what?”

Maluma, returning from his pickup game, answers for her. “Full of bullshit.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Natalia scoffs.

“What,” Maluma says, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s what you wanted to say, right?”

“No,” Natalia says. “Well, maybe. But you don’t say that part out loud.”

“Stupid,” Maluma says.

“Royce and Emeraude are coming,” Anitta says, interrupting whatever opinions on grammatical niceties Maluma was going to going to share.

“Oh,” he says, and stays quiet. Anitta smirks. Natalia returns to her book.

It takes them a while actually show up, and Maluma passes the time anxiously trying to figure out a game plan. Should he apologize? Should he promise to follow the schedule for the rest of the trip? Should he take Royce to a better museum once they’re back home? Should he take Royce for a romantic walk on the beach and propose holy matrimony? He’d have to find a better beach. This one is too crowded. He’d also have to buy a ring. Silver or gold? Platinum?

Royce solves the dilemma by pointedly ignoring him. He sticks with Emeraude, conversing with her in short, terse fragments when he’s not on his phone, which is most of the time. All of Maluma’s attempts at communication are met with a cold disinterest, and eventually he stops trying. He throws his shirt over his head and closes his eyes, pretending that he’s working on his tan.

He’s not really asleep, but he’s still startled when Anitta taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she says. “Wake up. We’re hungry. We’re going to some place Royce wants to go. You know how he has his plans.”

Maluma doesn’t respond, just gets up and brushes the sand off his legs.

 

\---

 

Royce brings them to a courtyard full of food trucks. It’s good and cheap and cute and Maluma could really care less. He sits next to Natalia and listens to her talk at Anitta about branding and visual marketing and online strategies. Anitta hums and nods her head in all the right places. Maluma doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s trying to eavesdrop on Royce and Emeraude across from them, but Natalia is really excited about algorithms. It doesn’t help that Anitta is eating nachos, either.

He gives up, finishes the rest of his food instead, and waits for dinner to be over.

“So if we’re going to stick to the schedule today,” Royce says, glaring at everyone except Maluma.

Emeraude interrupts him before he can really get going. “Don’t be passive aggressive. It’s not a good look.”

Royce soldiers on, unaffected. “If we’re sticking to the schedule, you’ll notice that tonight is a free night. So you people can go do whatever it is you want.”

“Thank you, mister schedule maker,” Natalia says. “I’m going to see Esther.”

There’s a chorus of oohing from the table, and Natalia gives them all a polite smile, pointedly ignoring their nosey questions. Esther’s car pulls up shortly after, and Anitta stops Natalia before she leaves them.

“Wait, Naty, if you’re going to ditch us on the last night, can your lady give us a ride?”

“She’s not,” Natalia says, but doesn’t finish the thought. “Fine. I’ll ask.”

Esther doesn’t seem to mind being their shuttle. “Sure,” she says when Anitta and not Natalia asks for a ride back to the hotel. “But there’s only three seats in the back.”

Royce solves this problem by putting Anitta on Maluma’s lap and Emeraude in the middle seat. It’s a logical arrangement since Anitta is the smallest, but Maluma can’t help but feel discouraged at the literal wall Royce builds between them.

He keeps Maluma at a distance for the rest of the night. The four of them decide to go out for drinks, somewhere casual with cheap alcohol and okay music. Emeraude looked it up online, and Royce made sure it had adequate reviews.

They pass the time quickly, chatting about nothing and mourning the end of their vacation. Their flight leaves the next day.

“You didn’t want to see your sugar daddy before we go?” Emeraude asks Anitta.

Anitta laughs. “No, but he wants to see me.” She shows her all the texts Thiago has sent since yesterday, most of which she hasn’t replied to. “Maybe when I go home. His family doesn’t live that far from mine.”

“Ooh, summer romance,” Emeraude says.

Royce raises an eyebrow at her. “What about you, Em?” He asks. “What happened to your dude?”

“Not my dude,” Emeraude says dismissively. “Just having fun.”

She turns the conversation on Royce, who deflects, declining to answer her questions about why he’s not getting laid. “Don’t be annoying,” he grumbles. He returns to his phone, and doesn’t contribute much to the conversation for the rest of the night.

Maluma suggests they end the night early, and no one objects, to his surprise. They file back into the hotel, getting ready to sleep and packing up their things. Anitta and Emeraude climb into one of the real beds. Maluma looks at Royce, who speaks to him for the first time since before noon.

“You can have the bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Maluma objects, tries to offer it to Royce, but Royce goes back to ignoring him. He disappears into the bathroom to shower, then puts himself to bed with his headphones on.

 

\---

 

Royce doesn’t talk to him over continental hotel breakfast the next morning or during their flight home. Even at the airport, he hugs Anitta and Natalia and Emeraude, saying that he’s going to go to his parents’ house first instead of straight back to the school. He gives Maluma an awkward handshake/clap on the back combination before hurrying off without another word.

Anitta raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t bring it up, which Maluma is grateful for. She calls them a car, and they all head back to campus.

Maluma lets himself into his room, and fortunately his roommate is nowhere to be found. He throws his stuff near his bed and spends the last few hours of his vacation torturing himself. He scrolls through all fifty million of Royce’s Instagram posts, though he doesn’t watch the stories. He feels like an animatron, mindlessly scrolling, unable to stop. It takes him nearly liking a picture from five years ago to scare him into giving up. He puts his phone away and lies fully clothed on top of his bed until he finally falls asleep.

Years of getting up for soccer practice in the morning mean that he wakes up at the right time the next day, although he’s still late. He feels sluggish running though drills, and it gets worse sitting in class. He tunes out the professor, not in the mood to concentrate. He looks at what he’s written.

_We’ll talk about it tomorrow, fuck you, you fucking liar._

He draws an angry face, then a sad face, then scribbles all over the whole thing because it’s embarrassing. He tears the page out and crumples it up. He tries to focus on the lecture, but it’s a lost cause.

He goes home and half-asses his way through his homework. He declines an offer to go out, goes instead to the school cafeteria and takes a sandwich back to his room. His roommate still hasn’t come back. Maybe he dropped out. Maluma shouldn’t be happy at the thought, but it means he doesn’t have to get his shit together just yet. He can mope around without judgement, and that’s a small comfort.

Practice the next day is not any better than the previous. He’s slow, nearly trips and falls, not paying attention to where he puts his feet. His teammates laugh at him, not in a mean way, but he still feels like crying. Or yelling. Or destroying something.

Instead he picks up the pace, orders his legs to obey. He runs, as fast as he can, then faster. He does this every day, then goes to his classes and forces himself to pay attention. He goes to the library and sits in the silent section and stares at his notebook and tries not to think about Royce.

He makes it two weeks. His team loses their important game, and everyone is sad, but Maluma takes it especially hard. He pounds his fist against the lockers, screams. He cries in the shower, and he’s not the only one. He commiserates with his teammates and pretends he’s only upset about the loss.

The coach gives them a condolence speech, tells them that they did their best and they’ll do it next year. Maluma doesn’t care about winning anymore. He only cares that they’ve been knocked out of the tournament because that means there are no more practices until the summer clinic.

Maluma spends his newfound free time stalking Royce. Or trying to. He knows that he’s being avoided. Royce lives right across from him, and he must have memorized Maluma’s schedule. He was taking his turn at the front desk in the morning while Maluma went to practice, but he seems to have switched it to the afternoon during Maluma’s one late class. He’s even moved his hair cutting sessions to an undisclosed location.

His shifts at the bookstore are so sporadic that Maluma can’t figure out a coherent schedule. Maluma spied him once by pure luck, taking down a display of school soccer jerseys, but Royce must have seen him as well because he hurried into the storage room and didn’t come out for thirty minutes. Not that Maluma was counting.

Eventually Maluma gives up and asks for help. He texts Emeraude, asking if she knows where Royce is under the banal pretense of wanting to borrow a book from him. They don’t have any shared classes. They’re not in the same department, let alone the same major, and no one has assigned a new book to read in the last two weeks of the semester.

Emeraude takes pity on him. Maluma watches three little dots appear and disappear several times before she finally sends a message saying that Royce has just left her place and didn’t mention he was going anywhere but home. Maluma bristles at the thought of them together in her apartment, and then forces himself to calm down. He paces around his room, checking the hallway every few minutes until he finally sees Royce arrive.

Maluma waits what he thinks is a reasonable amount of time, then knocks on the door.

“Who is it?”

Maluma doesn’t answer. He knocks again.

Royce opens the door and frowns. “What do you want, man?”

“Can we talk?”

“We’re talking.”

“Can we talk in your room?”

“No.”

Royce just about shuts the door in his face, but Maluma sticks his arm out, preventing it from closing. It’s kind of painful.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, stupid,” Royce says. He sighs. “Fine, come in. But I don’t have a lot of time. I have to start studying soon.” He opens the door, barely wide enough for Maluma to squeeze inside.

Royce’s room smells nice, no small miracle in their damp, outdated building that probably violates several city codes by just existing. Maluma walks around the perimeter, looking at Royce’s well-organized desk. His laptop and a neatly stacked pile of books sit on top, next to a plant that Royce has manged to keep alive the whole year. There’s only one bed in the room taking up space. It feels almost like a real apartment.

“So,” Royce says. He’s standing with his arms crossed in the middle of the floor, blocking Maluma from moving around anymore.

Maluma stays near the desk. “Can we talk?”

“We are talking.” Royce gives him the same response.

“No, we’re not.”

“What do you call it when you move your mouth and sounds come out then?”

 _“Ya tú sabes,”_ Maluma says. He shifts his weight from leg to leg, bumping the desk by accident. Royce scowls at him, and he stops fidgeting.

“Nope,” Royce declares. “I don’t.”

“Come on. I just,” Maluma pauses. “Can we just talk about what happened at the beach?”

“What happened at the beach?”

“Really? You just want to pretend nothing happened?”

“Yes,” Royce says, and it hits Maluma like a slap to the face. He stares at his shoes for a moment.

“Why won’t you talk to me? You promised that we would talk about it.”

Royce shrugs, and it’s infuriating. Maluma takes a step towards Royce, who backs up until he runs out of room, legs hitting the edge of the bed. He uncrosses his arms, holds them out in front of himself.

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“You promised.”

“Well, I take the promise back.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not what a promise is.”

Royce rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. “I know what a promise is. I just don’t want to keep it.”

“Why?”

“Because that would mean getting _involved,_ and I don’t know if I can do that.”

“What do you mean involved? With me? You don’t want to get involved with me?”

“I don’t know.” Another slap in the face.

“Why not?”

Royce is silent for a moment, but Maluma is too impatient to wait even a few seconds. "Why not? Why not?" He prods.

“Because you’re so messy!” Royce throws his hands up in the air.

“I am very neat,” Maluma says, and he’s even not sure if he’s making a joke. He’s not that neat, and Royce knows it. It’s an inane thing to joke about anyway. But the alternative is to cry, and that doesn’t seem too appealing.

“That’s not what I meant,” Royce says, rolling his eyes again. “And I know you know that.”

“You know I know that what?”

“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. _Explícame”_

“You’re messy. Your life is messy. It’s like you don’t have any real problems so you have to create some fake ones for yourself.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean, come on,” Royce says. “You bring me on vacation with your ex-girlfriend but then you try to do whatever it is you were trying to do, and…” He cuts himself off, shakes his head.

Maluma stares blankly. Finally he says, “You made the plans. _You_ brought _me_ on vacation. You didn’t say anything about Natalia when I suggested she come too. And what do you mean I create ‘fake problems’? What is that?”

“Man,” Royce sighs heavily. “Look, that was out of line. Sorry. It’s just, you come at me with this sad, mopey bullshit about how we’re not talking about what happened on vacation. And yeah, okay, I told you we’d talk about it. And no, we didn’t, but there’s more important things than that! Like, sorry I’m distracted right now. But I have to fucking graduate, bro. Why do you think I’ve been ignoring you? I have to concentrate.”

“You’re saying that I am not important, and that you are ignoring me.”

Royce yells, once, strangled. Then he starts in on Maluma, staring angrily. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you got out of that?”

Maluma stares right back. “You never give me the chance to be important.”

“I can’t even deal with you right now. God, you’re so, I don’t fucking know.”

“Yeah, of course you don’t know. You never think about it.”

“What do you even want me to think about?”

“You’ve already decided that this is not going to work without giving me a chance. I told you already. I want you any way that you will let me have you. But I really want you, you know? I mean, like a real thing. And you said," he pauses, takes a deep breath. "You said you wanted me, too."

Royce stares at him, mouth slightly open. He narrows one eye at Maluma. “Fucking Jesus,” he says, finally.

“It’s not Jesus’ fault.”

“It’s not Jesus’ fault,” Royce repeats back, incredulous. “Fuck you, come here.”

That startles Maluma. He doesn’t know if he’s heard correctly. He hesitates, not wanting to do the wrong thing.

“Come here,” Royce says again.

Maluma takes one step towards Royce, then another, stopping when he’s right in front of him. He waits.

“No promises,” Royce says. “I don’t know what this means, so don’t ask me stupid questions later. I just need to get you out of my head. I need to focus, man, my God, you’re so…”

He still doesn’t finish the thought, doesn’t tell Maluma what he is. He just grabs him and kisses him, pushes him back on his tiny, school-issued mattress and climbs on top. Royce shoves a knee between Maluma’s legs, and Maluma lets them fall open easily. Royce settles himself in the space between. He pins Maluma in place, propping himself up on his elbows and staring down at him. Maluma can feel all the places where they’re touching, and he wishes there weren’t so many layers of clothing keeping them apart.

“You’re so,” Royce starts again.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, okay?”

Maluma pulls him down to kiss again. It’s the fourth time they’ve kissed, not that Maluma is counting, not that he’s memorized every moment that led up to every time, the before, during, and after. Not that he’s analyzed everything that went right or wrong in a fruitless attempt to recreate the conditions for it to happen again.

It turns out he just had to turn up on Royce’s doorstep and ask to be let in. Figuratively speaking, because there the hallway of their dorm is carpeted, the only decoration outside a plaque on the door that says “Resident Assistant”.

Royce kisses him again and again, enough times that Maluma stops counting, starts focusing on how to make Royce’s breath hitch, how to make him shiver and gasp and moan ever so faintly. Royce is quiet, almost unsettlingly so. Maluma can only draw out the tiniest sounds from him, and only when he finally finds the right spot.

 

\---

 

Next to his hip bone, Maluma remembers, and he blushes. He must have left a mark. It’d be impossible not to. Once he’d figured out how sensitive Royce was there, he couldn't leave it alone. Kissing, biting, sucking until his skin was red and his back arched, taut like a bow, and making the most gorgeous sounds.

Maluma’s getting hot. He needs to stop this train of thought before it gets him in trouble. He pulls the hood of his jacket farther over his head, sinks down lower in his seat. He glances around, but no one is paying attention to him. The library is packed with people studying for finals, all of them oblivious to the porno replaying in his head.

It’s not a porno, he tells himself. They didn’t have sex. Not really, or maybe they did. Maluma’s not sure how to classify what happened. Does rolling around naked count if no one comes? What if it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever done? What if they were probably going to _go all the way_ like a bad teen movie if not for the fact that they were interrupted by some idiot who got locked out by his roommate when he went to take a shower?

He must have left a mark. He wonders if he’ll get to see it before it heals. Royce hasn’t talked to him since, and that was a week ago. Okay, five days, but rounding up makes it a week.

Maluma closes his laptop. He hasn’t bothered to click past the title page of the PowerPoint he’s supposed to be studying. He gives up his seat to a more dedicated student and goes back to his dorm.

He doesn’t bump into Royce in the hallway. He drops his backpack on the ground in the middle of the room and thanks Jesus that his roommate must have been run over by the subway or something. He doesn’t even feel bad about it. He crawls into bed and throws an arm over his face and leaves it there until it starts to tingle.

Bright and early Friday morning, Maluma drags himself out of his dorm to sit for his last exam. When he stumbles out of the classroom, blinking against the oppressive sunlight, he’s not even happy that finals are over. Later he goes out with Anitta and Natalia to celebrate and spends the whole night wishing he was somewhere else. Natalia goes on and on about how she’s planning to visit Esther over the summer, and Maluma wants to throw his drink at her.

Even Anitta is no help. She’s leaving for Brazil the next day, and her conversation evokes a violent kind of homesickness Maluma hasn’t felt since his first year of school. He isn’t going back until after the soccer clinic ends, and it won’t even start for another few weeks.

Maluma finishes his drink and calls it a night. Anitta and Natalia ask him to stay, but he waves them off. He’d rather go home and check on Royce’s online presence. He hasn’t been very active lately, but maybe since school is out he’ll have an update.

There aren’t any new posts, only stories, and Maluma has too much pride to watch those. He tosses his phone softly on the ground and tries to sleep.

By some act of grace, quite possibly the fact that “student-athlete” is less a description of his extracurricular activities and more _carte blanche_ to do as he pleases, Maluma passes all his finals. He actually did pretty well in his classes. He’s not sure how. He spent a lot of time in the library but doesn’t remember learning a thing.

He has nothing to do now, since waiting for final grades was the only thing to keep him preoccupied. He thinks about going sightseeing, doing all the touristy things he never got around to doing because Royce had told him not to bother. He’d skipped the tour set up for international students, and instead they’d gone to Royce’s parent’s house in the Bronx. “The real New York,” Royce had said with a grin.

Maluma goes to the gym instead, runs on the treadmill until his legs shake and he feels like throwing up.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Death Cab for Cutie


End file.
